


i think i've seen this film before (and i didn't like the ending).

by dwoht



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, if you have seen the last five years this will make a lot more sense, professional soccer player kara, track athlete lena
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:40:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26354350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwoht/pseuds/dwoht
Summary: Lena really thinks that's going to be the last she ever sees of Kara Danvers. She assumes it'll just be one of those weird anecdotes people have. Like, “Yeah, I hooked up with that Kara Danvers before she was famous. Athletes, am I right?” And she's fine with that.The world has other plans for her.or,The Last Five Years AU. Kara and Lena's five year long relationship told from both perspectives. Lena tells her side from beginning to end, Kara tells hers from the end to the beginning, and they tell the middle together.
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Comments: 10
Kudos: 82





	1. the first year: lena

**The First Year: Lena**

“This is hard to watch, and my team is the one actually winning.”

Lena whips her head around, and finds a woman a couple rows down the bleachers staring at her. There’s a sense of purpose in the amused, yet oddly intense gaze, and Lena wonders if she’s supposed to know who she is. She combs through her distance acquaintances for a half a second, then she decides she doesn't, and she just narrows her eyes suspiciously at the woman’s _very_ cardinal red t-shirt.

She straightens her Cal tee slightly. “Oh, yeah. Definitely.” She gestures vaguely towards the pitch, and tries to identify at least one of the Berkeley women’s soccer players. “You know, because they’re losing by… five points? Really?”

“You don’t seem very invested,” the woman laughs. 

“I’m not,” Lena confesses. She bites her lip as the other woman waits for her to continue. “To be honest, I don’t even know the rules. Except that you can’t use your hands; I’ve heard that one’s very important.”

“What brought you here, then?” the woman asks. There’s a twinkle in her ridiculously blue eyes (not that Lena was staring) as she seems to deliberate for a second, and then adds, “Alone?”

Lena tries not to dwell on what she thinks is a hint of hopefulness in the woman’s tone of voice, and sighs. “Uh, my cousin plays this sport. And also for this team. Sometimes.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, she’s internally rolling her eyes at what a terrible story it is. The woman’s even more amused expression seems to confirm the fact that it wasn’t even a remotely convincing argument.

Still, Lena would prefer a blatant lie over the much more pathetic truth, which is she’d cried in her car for an hour in the parking lot of a Berkeley track meet, then decided to come watch the soccer game to try to cheer her up. Instead, it was just a change of scenery for the same pity party.

“Cousin. Sometimes,” the woman repeats, and there’s a teasing aftertaste to her words. She doesn’t look at all turned away from the stilted conversation, and adds, again, “And you’re watching all alone because...”

“You’re awfully nosy,” Lena grumbles. She arches an eyebrow. "And who are you, exactly?"

The woman looks completely unapologetic. She just cracks a smile, then scoots a little closer with her hand outstretched. “I’m Kara. I hope I’m not contributing to what sounds like an already bad evening.”

“Not at all,” Lena admits, and then blushes slightly. “I’m Lena Luthor.” 

“Well, Lena Luthor,” Kara says, “now that we’re friends, it’s officially my duty to teach you the rules of soccer. Or, as everybody else likes to call it, football.” 

“I’m not very good with rules,” Lena warns her. “In track, you just run when they tell you to.”

“I’ve been tells I’m a good teacher,” Kara says with a smile. “You can’t get rid of me that quickly.”

“I get the feeling I’d be stupid even to try," Lena agrees.

The next half of the game consists of Kara screaming at the top of her lungs with various comments towards Lena in between. Lena isn't sure she learns a lot about soccer, but she does learn a lot about Kara, and she figures that's a win anyway. 

“If it goes over the longer boundaries, the team that doesn't knock it out gets to throw it back in, and if it goes over the shorter boundaries where the goals are, the goalkeeper gets to kick it back in if it goes over the goal line of the opposite team,” Kara explains rapidly without taking her eyes off the field, “or it’s a corner kick if it goes over the goal line of the same team that kicked it out, which means a player from the opposite team goes over to the corner and kicks it back in.”

“Uh-huh.” Lena nods and smiles, though she knows Kara isn't paying the least bit of attention to her, and hopes she's a good enough actress to make it seem like she understands. “And what brings _you_ to this game? All alone,” she adds.

“Huh? Oh, well, I actually--” Kara’s attention turns abruptly back to the field and begins yelling, along with several others, “ _That_ is a handball! Ref! Referee!”

Lena gives up trying to follow the game and decides just to watch Kara, who's beginning to look more and more familiar as each minute goes by. She can't seem to place where she knows her from, though. It definitely isn't college, as is evident by all the Stanford gear, probably not grade school, because Kara really doesn't seem like the private boarding school type (thank God), but Lena doesn't really do anything else except... track?

No. She can just tell — Kara is an athlete, but not a runner.

The game concludes with a whistle and a scoreboard of Stanford up by six. 

“Sorry,” Kara says sheepishly.

Lena watches the crowd rise almost in unison and start filing out. “Why?” she laughs.

“Maybe because I approached you, and then spent the entire game paying more attention to the ref?” Kara suggests.

“Well, how could you resist his knee-high socks?” Lena tries for a joke, hoping her forced smile will transfer into her tone.

Kara rolls her eyes, but there's a faint smile lingering on her lips. “Let me make it up to you.” Lena raises her eyes as if to say, _Keep going_. Kara drums her fingers on her knee for a moment before asking, “You hungry?”

“Maybe.” 

“I know some really good, really hidden places around here,” Kara says. 

“Considering I’ve lived here for the past two and a half years, you’ve got a high bar to meet,” Lena says. She pushes herself to her feet and winces slightly as her body is finally forcing her to feel the ache that has been nagging at her knee all day.

“Are you okay?” Kara asks. She reaches out hesitantly, but then detracts her hand before it’s even been fully extended.

“I’m fine,” Lena says abruptly. She sighs and forces a smile onto her face, complete with a little eye squint and all. “I’m _great_. You coming?”

Kara leaps up like she's just been waiting for Lena to say the word. “Is Mexican okay? There’s this absolutely amazing hole in the wall.” 

She really isn't kidding when she says it's a hole in the wall; Lena is pretty sure she wouldn't have even been able to find it on her own, but Kara directs them into a small, rundown shop, and through a maze of aisles until they come upon a small kitchen.

She pushes past the fact that if her mother saw her there she would have an aneurysm, and it  ends up being the best burrito she's ever eaten. Or maybe it's the company that makes it good. Lena isn't sure.

All she knows is that she's been sad and mopey the whole day, but Kara never stops smiling. She also has great taste in burritos, and apparently makes Lena an incredibly trusting person, because as soon as Kara yawns and groans that she still hasn't found a hotel for the night, Lena is offering up her spare room immediately. 

“Really?” Kara asks. She blinks slightly. “What if I’m, like, a serial killer?”

“The odds of you _also_ being a serial killer are extremely low,” Lena deadpans. 

“I’m sorry, ‘also’?” Kara is a walking definition of ‘deer in the headlights’ if Lena ever saw one, and she can’t help but start laughing. “Oh, very funny. What a comedian.”

Lena swats her balled up aluminum foil into the trash. “Actually, though. It’s okay if you don’t want to, I know I’m a stranger, but... it’s free?”

A pause. Then, “Sure. Why not?”

Which is how she finds herself on top of Kara with two forgotten glasses of wine on the coffee table. Kara’s lips are rougher than she expected, but all it takes is one touch of Lena’s lips to soften them. She almost forgets the pain in her knee.

Almost.

It throbs as she pulls at collar of Kara’s t-shirt, and all but buckles under her when she stands briefly to reposition, but she keeps kissing. It seems to help at least a little bit. 

“Wait, wait,” Kara pants. She props herself up on her elbows, and Lena’s fingers hesitate at the hem of the God awful Stanford t-shirt that she's had to suffer through the whole night. 

“You okay?” Lena shifts back into a sitting position between Kara’s knees.

“I’m fine. Great, even,” Kara assures her, tugging at Lena’s hand. “I just have to pee. Like, really bad.”

“To be continued?” Lena masks her sigh of relief with a smirk, and slides off of Kara’s lap. She laces their fingers together, and pulls her up, tugging her down the hall. “Bathroom is there. Bedroom is there.”

“Copy that,” Kara says, saluting. She slides past Lena with a hand trailing on her waist, winks, and shuts the door.

Did Lena expect that her day would start with a pity party and end with a girl back at her apartment? Absolutely not. Did she expect that the girl, despite the whole Cardinal thing, would have actual opinions, a sense of humor, and generous laugh? Nope. Is she actually a little bit nervous about a hookup for the first time in the history of ever? She pleads the fifth. 

Lena kicks a pile of dirty clothes under her bed on the way into her room, turns on the bedside lamp, but not the room lighting, and flops onto her bed. Sliding back towards the headboard, she slides out of her lucky pair of Nike shorts that she put on that morning just to feel sad, and starts to tug off her Cal shirt, until she decides that if she has to look at the Stanford one, Kara will just have to deal with it. 

Kara.

Where _is_ Kara? 

She's peeing. Right. Lena leans back against her pillows and vaguely registers that a toilet is flushing in the background, but if she's being honest, she isn't even sure it’s the one in her apartment. Her neighbor always did have loud pipes. 

Her eyes start to flutter shut, and Lena feels the day’s exhaustion, both physical and mental, catch up to her. She knows she should put ice on her knee, but her bed is so warm, and Kara will be there any minute. 

“Kara Danvers,” she mumbles. She's just able to wonder how she knows Kara’s last name when another wave of fatigue hits her, and she lets herself fall asleep.

/

“Why did I just see Kara Danvers walk out of your apartment?”

Lena groans and tries her best to fight the tangle of sheets around her legs. She tucks her feet up into her chest to escape the mess that is her blankets, and rolls over and avoid the sunlight that is very stubbornly shining into her room.

“What?” she grumbles, not the least bit concerned that there's a person in her apartment. “Let me sleep.” 

“It’s eleven in the morning.”

“Perfect, I have an hour until my alarm goes off.”

Apparently, that is not the plan, because feels her covers being pulled off of her. Lena grabs half-heartedly at the blankets, but she knows the battle is lost before it's even begun, so she sighs, rolls over, squints her eyes open, and is rewarded with her best friend and a cup of coffee.

“Good morning,” Sam says brightly. She holds out the coffee. “You can have this after you answer my question.”

“What did you ask?” Lena sighs, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. 

“Why did I just see Ka —”

“Oh, right, Kara Danvers,” Lena says. She frowns and tilts her head to one side, suddenly wide awake. “Kara Danvers was here last night.”

“That does seem to be the case,” Sam says. She arches an eyebrow, and watches as Lena tries to process more than one thought at a time. Sam ends up getting to the end of it first, because she takes in a sharp breath and says, “Oh, my God. You hooked up with Kara Danvers?”

“What?” Lena protests. “No! At least, I don’t think so.”

“You don’t remember?” Sam asks. “Were you drunk?”

Lena swipes the coffee from her hand and takes a long sip. “Uh, no to that also.” She frowns slightly, feeling nothing but well-rested, despite the ache in her knee. She certainly doesn't feel hungover, or like she’d been tipsy and up all hours hooking up with some girl. “I met her at the Cal game, she came back here, and I’m pretty sure we were going to hook up, but then she had to pee?”

“Her urinary movements prevented you from hooking up?” Sam shakes her head. 

“Yeah, ‘cause...” Lena blushes and rolls her eyes at herself. “I fell asleep while I was waiting for her. I think. It might have been a dream.”

“Definitely not.” Sam shakes her head with a slight grin. “Her walk of shame this morning brought back memories.”

“It isn’t a walk of shame if we didn’t —“ Lena rolls her eyes again, and slides into a pair of running shorts. Huffing, she prods Sam towards the kitchen. “How do you even know her?”

“Lena, I played soccer for Stanford. Like, for the last two years. Very very recently. You remember that, right?” Sam asks. “You didn't get in another car accident, did you?”

“ _No_ ,” she grumbles pointedly, knowing fully well that Sam is probably the only person who would be able to make such a horrible joke without getting punched. “Stop being mean, I didn't know Kara played for Stanford, though, now that I think about it, that does explain why she was decked out in Cardinal red at a women’s soccer game.”

“I don’t know how you _couldn't_ have known that already,” Sam says, furrowing her eyebrows. “She’s, like, pro now.”

“Huh.” Lena scoots herself into a chair and props her leg up. “So, she left college?”

“Yup,” Sam says, sliding herself into a chair as well. “Dropped out after sophomore year, spent the past 6 months in Portland, but is being considered as a trade to San Francisco. For Press, probably. And — wait, don't you have class?”

“Nah.” Lena adjusts the ice on her knee and motions for Sam to toss her one of the many bottles of Ibuprofen she has. “I used to have that English class, but I dropped it, remember?”

“Uh, no. No, not really.”

“Well, I did,” Lena shrugs, “I have physical therapy at noon instead. Class at 2:10.”

“Well, _I_ have class in, like, twenty minutes, so I’m gonna go,” Sam says. “Just came to make sure you got up.”

“Thanks, mom,” Lena says, rolling her eyes. 

“Please,” Sam scoffs, letting herself out, “your mother would never do this.”

/

Lena really thinks that's going to be the last she ever sees of Kara Danvers. The way Sam described it, Kara's growing in popularity by the hour in the sports and soccer world, so she really doubts a chance meeting again.

She assumes it'll just be one of those weird anecdotes people have. Like, “Yeah, I hooked up with that Kara Danvers before she was famous. Athletes, right?” She’d leave out the part where they didn't _actually_ hook up, but it would be a conversation starter for sure. That’s all Kara would be. And she's fine with that. 

The world has other plans for her. 

“Let’s go to a soccer game,” Sam suggests for the fifth time. 

Lena pokes at her sandwich and sighs. “Why would I want to go to a soccer game? Unless you’re playing, I’m not interested.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Lena repeats, already wary of the shit-eating grin Sam is sporting. 

“Okay,” she says, “but what about if Kara Danvers's playing?” 

“Kara Danvers,” she repeats, again. “You mean, three months ago in a dream, Kara Danvers?” 

“It wasn’t a dream,” Sam says, tossing her wadded up receipt at Lena's face. Wiping her slightly avocado covered fingers on a napkin, she continues, “but, for all intents and purposes, yes, _that_ Kara Danvers.” When Lena remains silent, Sam sighs and says, “Look, after we ran into each other in the hallway, Kara texted me apologizing for the weirdness or whatever —”

“— never texted _me_ ,” Lena grumbles.

“— and we started talking again,” Sam says. “Anyway, she really wants me to go to this game. Gave me free tickets and everything. I just don’t have anyone to go with.”

“Yeah, right,” Lena scoffs. “What about literally anyone you’ve ever talked to in your entire life? I bet that guy over there would go with you if you asks. Or the girl who makes our sandwiches. People do whatever you want, Samantha Arias, and you know it.”

“So why don’t _you_?” she says. It's unfortunate that Sam has some of the most effective puppy dog eyes ever, because Lena finds herself agreeing before her brain has even caught up with her mouth. 

“She plays pro, right?” Lena asks. “What team?”

Sam looks at her with a, _What difference does it make to you?_ look, knowing fully well that Lena couldn't care less about soccer, but she dutifully replies, “Portland, but she’s trialing with San Francisco.” 

“I’m assuming that means the game is in the city?” Lena says. Sam nods. Lena smiles “Great. I’ll go, on the condition that you drive.” 

/

“My leg hurts,” Lena whines, with said leg propped up and her phone held to her ear. 

“Really? Or do you just want to get out of going to this game,” Sam sighs. Lena can hear her shuffling around her apartment. 

“Hey, not cool.” 

“I know, I know,” she relents. “I’m sorry.” 

“Okay.”

“L,” Sam tries. “I really am sorry. I know you never pull the ‘car accident’ card, and I believe that it hurts. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” 

“It’s fine,” Lena says, popping four pills of Ibuprofen and chasing them with the second half of an old Red Bull. “I’ll go, I just wanted to complain.” 

Which she does. The whole way. The last half hour is silent, filled only by a quiet hum of the radio, and the regular noises of the freeway. Sam has bartered thirty minutes of silence for a promise to buy Lena whatever she wants once they get the game. 

When they finally make their way into the stadium, Lena slumps into the seat, which is basically on the field, and feels kind of guilty as she watches the fans who actually care about soccer filing into their much worse, and much more expensive, seats. Sam deposits her stuff and grabs her wallet as Lena smirks. “You promised. No backing out now.”

“I know,” Sam grumbles. “May I take your order, ma’am?”

“Nachos, a hot dog, and a water,” Lena lists. “Oh, and ask if they’ll give you some ice.” 

“Knee?” Sam asks, her reproachful expression instantly replaced with concern. 

“It’s my whole leg,” Lena grimaces. “I’m not sure why I pay so much for physical therapy because I think it’s getting worse. My muscles have been cramping a lot lately.”

“I thought you took some Ibuprofen?” 

“I did.” A pause. “It, uh, doesn’t help,” Lena admits. 

Sam raises an eyebrow. “At all?”

“Basically,” Lena says, and then winces at how that sounds. “I take it anyway to see if some of the placebo effect will help, but it barely makes a difference.”

“Lena.” Sam is looking at her with an unreadable expression. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“What would you do?” Lena shrugs. “I don't want you to worry, the way you’re doing right now. I just want to eat shitty nachos and watch a dumb game I don’t even care about. Please?” 

“Fine,” Sam says eventually. “But we’re talking about this later.

“I look forward to it.”

Sam shakes her head and squeezes Lena’s shoulder before taking off in search of food. Lena has only been scrolling through Instagram for a few minutes when a wave of cheering rises up behind her. Turning slightly, she eyes the sea of fans screaming and waving various signs and shirts. With her shoulders square towards the field again, she notices both teams have entered the pitch and have begun warming up. 

It takes Lena all of ten seconds before she starts scanning for Kara. After noting that she'll be in a yellow jersey, her eyes immediately locked onto a figure with an almost unmistakable stature, juggling a ball back and forth with someone else. 

“Hey, what’d I miss?”

“Literally nothing,” Lena says, taking a chip before Sam has even finished setting everything down. “As you can see, the game has not started.” 

“Thanks,” Sam says, letting the word drip with sarcasm, tearing off a bit of pretzel. “Oh, look! There’s Kara.”

“Oh, really?” Lena chomps on another handful of chips. She shrugs. “Didn't notice.”

“Why did I get you nachos if you’re just eating the chips?” Sam sighs. 

“Because they give you a terrible chip to cheese ratio,” Lena says. “You have to eat at least half the chips plain so that the last half of the chips will be properly covered in cheese. It’s called making sacrifices, Sam.” 

“You sound like Kara,” Sam snorts. She nods vaguely towards the field, and Lena turns just in time to see Kara sporting the widest grin ever, and waving frantically in their direction before jogging back towards the locker rooms. 

“How close were you two?” Lena asks, starting on the portion of chips that are allowed to have cheese.

“Huh?”

“At Stanford,” Lena repeats. “How close were you?”

“Oh, you know,” Sam shrugs. 

“Uh, no, I don’t. That’s why I asked?” Lena arches an eyebrow. “Why are you being weird? Wait...”

“Don’t try and play detective,” Sam says. 

“You guys dated, didn't you?” Lena states. 

“We didn't _date_ ,” Sam says, rolling her eyes. “We had a thing, but it wasn't serious. We were teammates, pretty good friends freshman year, but Kara started looking into going pro at the exact time I started thinking about quitting soccer.”

“That’s so romantic,” Lena sighs. Sam throws a piece of pretzel at her, and Lena catches it neatly in her mouth with a well-timed wink. Sam is about shoot back what Lena is sure to be a witty retort too intellectual to roll off the tongue, but before she can, a mass of cheering and clapping of thundersticks rises from behind them. Lena lets out a faint cheer and a single clap. 

The game kicks off with San Francisco obviously at the advantage against the away team, from Orlando. The team’s name has something to do with either lions or gay people, Lena isn’t sure which. Either way, they wear purple, which clashes horrendously with San Francisco’s yellow, and are tripping left and right trying to regain possession. 

“She’s really good,” Lena comments. She watches as Kara two touches it over a defender’s head and slots it over the box in a well-timed cross. A San Francisco player comes flying out of nowhere and meets the ball just in time to send it past the bumbling fingertips of Orlando’s goalkeeper.

Lena’s competitiveness outweighs her lack of care for soccer, so after she decides she’s rooting for San Francisco, she becomes a lot more invested. The second the ball crosses the goal line, she jumps up ready to cheer like the dutiful fan she is. Instant pain leads to instant regret, and Lena grabs the table for support as her leg all but crumples underneath her. Sam is busy celebrating and screaming her lungs off, saying something about trees, so Lena forces a grin and a fist pump when Sam makes brief eye contact with her.

The game ends with San Francisco up by two, and Sam starts gathering their trash while rattling off the details of how they're going to meet Kara for dinner afterwards. Lena lets her talk and tunes her out while nodding agreeably. She knows Sam mostly is talking to herself, and so she let herself become more preoccupied with the fact that her leg is hurting like hell, and she isn’t sure she can even walk on it. 

Standing up gingerly, she stretches it out just like her physical therapist tells her to, and massages the area around her kneecap with her thumbs. Sam narrows her eyes after returning from her final garbage trip. “You okay?”

“Mhm.” 

“Don’t lie to me, Luthor.”

“San, it’s your night,” Lena sighs. “I hate that it’s always about my leg. Yeah, it hurts. It always does. It’s not gonna kill me, so can you please let me help you have a great time? You’re reuniting with your long lost love!” 

Sam lets her concern drop and rolls her eyes while smacking at Lena’s arm. “Shut up. First of all, if you wanted me to have a great night, you should have paid for your own food _and_ mine. Second, Kara is not my long lost love. It was a very brief thing, and I only ever wanted to be her friend anyway.”

“Ouch,” an amused voice says from behind her. “Let me down easy next time, Arias.”

“Kara!” Sam actually squeals. She drops her bag and throws herself into the very sweaty arms of one Kara Danvers. She looks pretty much the same, and the second that thought crosses Lena’s mind, she mentally slaps herself. _Duh_. It's only been three months. 

“Hey, Lena Luthor,” Kara says. Her tone is neutral with a slightest hint of nervousness that Lena latches onto, but a soft smile reaches all the way up to her eyes. 

“Long time no see,” Lena says, ignoring the way Sam is flickering her gaze between the two of them like she's watching a fast paced tennis match. 

“It’s nice to see you again,” Kara says. “I assume you’re joining Sam and I for dinner?

Lena nods, slightly amused. “Yes,” she says stiffly, cursing herself for being so awkward and formal. “We’re ready when you are.”

“I’ll just change really quick, and then I’ll meet you around the back. Sound good?” Kara tosses them a quick thumbs up and then turns and leaves without waiting for an answer. Lena's pleasantly surprised to find she’s successfully stood for the whole interaction, and starts tugging Sam along. 

“Someone’s eager to see Kara.”

“No,” Lena corrects, “someone’s eager to get to the car before she falls down in front of ten thousand people.” 

“Same difference,” Sam says dismissively, but she puts a sense of authoritative urgency in her step that gives her the incredible power of parting crowds. Everyone pretty much makes space for them, and instead of swimming upstream like all the other sorry people in the stands, they're back to their car in less than five minutes.

From there, Sam manages to navigate them to a restaurant, a little Thai place just off of the theater district, and after seating themselves with a beer each and heaping plates of food, talk begins like it never even stopped.

Whether it's trading stories about Stanford life, to which Lena will interject every few minutes to say something positive about Cal, making fun of Sam, or attempting to discuss soccer, the conversation ebbs and flows perfectly with topics that allow everybody to do some talking as well as some listening. 

“Shit,” Sam muttered. “I gotta go.”

“What?” Lena says, pausing with the beer bottle halfway to her lips.

“Uh, yeah. Work emergency. Remember the Pyrenees with cancer?” Sam asks.

“Say no more,” Lena says, holding up her hand. 

“I barely got to see you,” Kara objects slightly.

“Come along with us,” she shrugs. “You’re here for a few days, right?” When Kara nods, she brightens and says, “Perfect. You can crash at my place and then I’ll drive you to the airport.”

“Really?” Kara asks. Sam nods, but is also already rushing out the door, which gives Kara little choice. Lena grits her teeth and follows as quickly as she can with Sam already seated and in reverse when they finally get to the car.

“Jeez, slow your roll,” Lena grumbles, as Sam peels out of the parking lot as soon as the doors shut. Sam makes a non-committal noise and offers her a wave of the hand, but Lena swallows thickly and says, “Sam. Seriously. Put on your seatbelt.”

Lena avoids eye contact with  Kara pointedly, who is eying her curiously as Sam lightly rolls to a stop and obeys.

The drive is mostly filled with silence and Sam muttering facts about the case she is overseeing to herself. Something about torn ligaments and facts about the Pyrenees breed that leave Lena considerably confused, but it seems to relax her a little bit.

Sam pulls up to Lena’s place and says, “Kara, why don’t you hang out with Lena for a bit?”

“What?” They both say at the same time. 

“It’ll be boring at the hospital, and I won’t be able to let you into my place anyway. Just do it, I gotta go!”

Kara holds up her hands in an “I surrender” sort of way, and they both watch as Sam zips away the second the car doors closed. “She’s a little intense for someone who’s just interning at a pet hospital.”

“Well, she really wants to work there after college, like, for real,” Lena says, with a little more edge to her tone than she meant. In her defense, her leg has been killing her all day, she's tired, she's sleepy, and now she has to babysit Sam’s friend. Walking into her apartment, all she wants to do is flop into her bed and sleep, hoping that the next day will bring some much needed relief. “So, are we going to talk about it?”

“What?”

“The elephant in the room,” Lena says, like it's obvious. “Our last interaction we had in this apartment. Or, lack of interaction, I guess.”

“What is there to talk about?” Kara asks. “We were gonna have a good time. You fell asleep. So I went to sleep too. I didn't think it was a thing we needed to discuss.”

“So, you just hook up with random people all the time?” Lena asks.

“Uh, first of all, we didn't hook up, _and_ that's not what I said. Second, I’m a grown woman, I can hook up with whoever I please,” Kara says, narrowing her eyes.

“Okay.” Lena shrugs. “I never said you couldn't.

“Good.”

“Yeah, it is.”

And then they’re kissing, which Lena really should have seen coming, and she can practically hear Sam saying, _You’re so predictable, L_ , but she doesn't have time to mentally berate herself because Kara’s fingers appear at the hem of her shirt, and then her lips start trailing down her neck, and all of a sudden it's just like last time. 

Except Lena doesn't fall asleep. 

It’s fast and hurried, like they’re making up for something, but Lena doesn't know what. It’s exactly how she pictured it would have gone the first time, if only her pesky fatigue hasn’t gotten in the way, but for some reason, these kisses seem different.

In fact, if she was nervous before, Lena is down right terrified now, because it doesn’t seem like a one night stand anymore. She _knows_ Kara. She’s talked to her on two separate occasions, and has seen her Broadway-worthy smile up close. They’ve eaten Thai together. Lena watched soccer on purpose. She even enjoyed it. 

And, almost like she predicted, it isn’t a one night stand. 

Kara makes breakfast the next morning, but they end up Doordashing iHop because, as Lena says, “It’s a good thing you’re better at soccer than cooking” and they trade numbers while waiting for the delivery guy. There is zero awkwardness, and Lena can't believe how easily they’d moved from making out on the kitchen counter to lounging on the floor and stuffing their faces with pancakes.

So when Kara leaves to go back to Portland, they promise to stay in touch because “I can’t believe we never became friends before!”

Kara lands back in SFO two weeks later after officially getting traded to San Francisco, and Lena, lying in the back of the car like she's in high school again, can't help but think, _This is not what friends do_. She thinks it again when Kara’s uses those incredible professional soccer player muscles to pin her to the shower wall, as they hold hands and watch the stars from Lena’s apartment balcony, and when they spend the whole day curled up on Lena’s couch watching Brooklyn 99 while Lena does homework.

“Can you get me some ice?” Lena asks, not taking her eyes off of the screen.

Kara slides out from behind her and folds her section of the blanket back over Lena’s lap. She’s been gone for just a few seconds when Lena hears her call, “Are frozen peas okay?”

“Yup!” 

Kara returns, passing off the package of peas, and slots back on the couch, easing Lena back into the curve of her lap. “Your knee hurting?”

“Whole leg,” Lena shrugs, propping up the bundle. “Ice is the only thing that makes it feel better.”

“Pain meds?” Kara asks. 

Lena shakes her head before the question is even over.  “I don’t take narcotics, and I’ve built up a tolerance to Ibuprofen, I guess.”

“You, uh...” Kara clears her throat, and for the first time since Lena met her, she sounds sort of nervous. “You never told me what happened.”

“No, I didn't,” Lena agrees. She waits, but if the pouting lips and wide open eyes are any indication, she can tell Kara doesn’t want to let it go. “I got in a car accident, that’s all. Nothing big.”

“Nothing big? It ruined your career,” Kara says.

A twinge of annoyance runs through her spine as  Lena pauses the TV and swallows a very present lump in her throat. She keeps her voice as level as she can, but she's wondering whether she needs to have a lengthy phone call about privacy with her best friend as she says, through gritted teeth, “Sam told you?”

“No!” Kara says quickly. Lena relaxes slightly, but she raises an eyebrow to hint that she should keep going. “No,” Kara repeats, and then admits, “I’ve known about you for a while. Like, several years. I played soccer for Stanford and you ran for Berkeley. Our paths weren’t so far apart, and you were _really_ good. It was a big thing when you got in that accident.”

“Why did you ask me, then?” Lena sighs. She rubs her eyes with the palms of her hands and lets the brief moment of darkness calm her. 

“I wanted you to tell me yourself,” Kara says with a shrug. “I wanted you to know that you felt comfortable with me knowing before you knew that I know.”

Lena can't help but let out a little chuckle at that because it’s just such a Kara thing to do, and she presses a brief kiss to her jaw before saying, “Thank you. I _do_ feel comfortable with you knowing. It’s just hard to talk about.”

“I’m sure,” Kara says softly.

This is when she’s supposed to flick the TV back on and pretend the conversation never happened, but Kara’s hands soften her urge to clench her own into fists, and the earnest adoration settling in Kara’s eyes coax words out of her that she didn’t even know she was capable of saying.

“I wish you had known me before,” Lena says quietly. Her eyes sting, and she blinks rapidly. “I was a different person. I was better.”

“You’re a great person,” Kara says.

“No,” Lena laughs humorlessly, hearing her mother’s voice echoing as she says, “I’m wasting my life. Before the accident, I was driven, and I was powerful, and I had a future. My apartment wasn’t a mess all the time, and I never slept past seven in the morning. I was _worth_ something.”

“Your value as a person isn’t based off of the things you’ve accomplished,” Kara says, shaking her head. There’s a frown on her lips, and Lena begins to wish she hadn’t said anything because she knows if Kara continues saying nice things to her, she might actually start to cry. “The accident hasn’t changed that.”

“It changed _me_ ,” Lena says. “It changed everything I had planned for myself.” She arches one eyebrow. “How would you feel if you hurt your leg tomorrow, and it had to get amputated?”

“I couldn't even imagine if I couldn't play soccer anymore,” Kara sighs. “I mean, I wouldn’t be who I am, I wouldn’t be going to Canada, I wouldn’t —”

“You’re going to Canada?” Lena interrupts. She feels Kara tense behind her. _Oh, shit._

“I forgot to tell you,” Kara says slowly. “I got called up to the full national team. I go to camp in Ontario in a couple days.”

Lena doesn't let herself dwell on the “a couple days” portion, but with an unsettling waver in her voice and a pressing feeling like she might cry, she says, “That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you!”

“I’m sorry I didn't tell you,” Kara says.

“Why would you have?” Lena responds, and if there's a bite to her tone, she doesn't try and sooth the way she knows her words will sting. “It’s not like we’re dating or anything.”

“Right.” Kara blinks. “Of course not. Yeah, I mean, I’m not ready for a relationship, anyway. Always having to, like, tell them what’s going on in your life and stuff. _Terrible_.”

Lena senses the off tone in her voice, but she just nods. “Yeah. Sucks.”

“Yeah.”

Is it weird? A little bit. It's like they had a teeny tiny elephant in the back corner of her apartment, and now it’s a full grown elephant sitting directly on top of them.

Lena, ever the compartmentalizer, thanks to her Luthor genes, refuses to think about it, and just pulls at the hem of Kara’s shirt, muttering something about how they better make good use of their time before Canada.

She’s only just begun to wonder how she’s going to manage the better part of four weeks without Kara, when her phone buzzes, notifying her of a text from Kara. It’s nothing important, just an update that she got to the airport okay, but it sets a precedent for daily messages.

Post-Canada is much like pre-Canada, except Lena’s heart isn’t really on the same page as her brain. Try as she might, and she does, it’s hard to keep going with the whole “friends” thing when her heart is ready for more.

/

“I can’t believe you and Kara are still a thing,” Sam muses. 

“We’re _not_ a thing,” Lena says. She stabs a fry with her fork off of Sam’s plate and pops it into her mouth. “What? We’re not. I mean, we’re a thing, but not like a _thing_.”

“Well, why aren’t you?” Sam steals one of Lena’s fries and gave her a look that says, _They are the exact same, eat your own._

“I don’t know,” Lena shrugs. “She doesn’t want a relationship. And I don’t either. I’m thinking of ending it — whatever it is — anyway, it’s not working out.”

“Really?” Sam asks. “Or is it going perfectly, and it’s just too hard seeing her accomplish what you should be doing?”

“Excuse me?”

“Look,” Sam says, holding up her hands. “I’m just saying. She’s a great soccer player and a great athlete. She’s living the dream. Ever since Canada, she’s been to three other national team camps in a row. She’s probably going to the Olympics. That could have been you with the national track team, and, like, way earlier, too. It must be hard to watch her success, that’s all.”

“I’m not that self-absorbed, you know,” Lena says, not wanting to let herself be offended, but being offended anyway. “I can be happy for others.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Sam looks her firmly in the eye and Lena wishes she would stop doing that, Lenause there once was a time when Lena would win one of those silent stare-offs easily, and now she feels her resolve crumble the moment their eyes meet.

She breaks their gaze and looks down at her fries. “Well, it’s not true, either way.”

“Okay,” Sam says. “Okay.” 

/

It _is_ true, apparently.

Lena sends Kara a quick text saying, _I don’t think you should come over tonight. Sorry._

She puts her phone face down on the bed, but immediately it starts vibrating non-stop. Groaning, she flop onto her back, registers an incoming call, and presses answer. “Hello?”

“Lena? What’s wrong?” Kara asks.

“Nothing,” Lena says. “I just don’t think we should do this anymore.”

“Do what?”

“ _This_.” She gestures to herself, ignoring the fact that Kara clearly can't see her.

“Okay,” Kara says, though it doesn’t sound like a finished sentence.”

“You leave a lot,” Lena says, saying the first things that come to mind, and hoping they’ll all make sense in the end. “For camp and stuff. It’s not your fault, but for something that’s not a relationship, this takes up a ton of my time.”

“Um, okay?” Kara says. “We can at least be friends?”

“Sure,” Lena says. Then, immediately, “Bye.” 

Is she being irrational? Maybe. Is it unfair to Kara? Probably. Are her motives hidden by some dumb line about Kara’s soccer schedule? Absolutely. Does it change the fact that it happened? Definitely not. 

Lena just wonders, given all the effort she put into disclaiming anything serious, why it feels so much like a break-up anyway.

/

She spends the next few weeks feeling sorry for herself, throwing pity parties, wallowing, and doing a lot of lying in bed cursing the world. It doesn't make her feel any better, but she figures it doesn't make her feel _worse_ , so she keeps it up.

A knock at her door interrupts one long session of sitting and staring at the wall, and she grumbles about how she can't even be sad without something ruining it. “I’m coming!” she calls loudly as whoever is on the other side knocks again. “Jeez.” She pulls open the door and is about to tell off whoever is on the other side, when she sees her.

“Hi,” Kara says.

“Hi,” Lena says flatly. “I was busy moping.”

“Lena,” she says. Her eyebrows are furrowed and she looks more serious than Lena has ever seen her in her entire life. “Lena, I don’t know what’s going on. I couldn't figure out why you didn't want to see me anymore, but then I realized that I was way too hung up on it for it to mean nothing. Honestly, I’m glad you said we should stop seeing each other.”

“You are?” Lena is so confused she forgets to be angry.

Kara smiles just a little, and Lena tries to ignore the flutter in her heart when the bridge of her nose wrinkles. “Yeah. I mean, if you hadn't, I wouldn’t have realized I have feelings for you. Real ones.”

“You do?”

“I do,” Kara nods. “Look, if you really just don’t think it’s working out, fine. If my soccer stuff is too much, I understand. But you said something about it being too much work for something that isn’t a relationship, so I want you to know that if you’re willing to give it a try, I’m all in. I’m ready to make it a relationship. I’m ready to be your girlfriend. Your committed girlfriend, who will tell you about her life, and all that terrible stuff.” 

There's a hint of amusement and humor to her words, but Lena can hear that Kara is nervous as well, and it makes her heart melt.

She wishes she could see the future — do they make it? Will it be worth it? Is she willing to let her walls come down? Because she knows that would mean all of them, even the ones she’s not even sure where to start with.

Lena wishes she could know, but she can't, and predicting the future has always been the one skill she was never able to master. All she's sure of is here and now, which includes Kara Danvers standing in her doorway with a hesitant smile and perfect words.

So she nods. “Yeah, I’d like that.”


	2. the fifth year: kara

**The Fifth Year: Kara**

The hotel room is the most lavish they’ve stayed at during her whole time with the national team. Kara supposes the women’s team is finally getting some funding, and after five years of consistent call-ups, Kara’s no longer the wide-eyed rookie she once was.

She’s scrolling mindlessly through Instagram while Lucy reads a book in the bed next to hers, and while she should feel comfortable, she’s just restless. Her mind wanders every other sentence, and she gets to the end of an Instagram caption before realizing she has no idea what she’s just read.

Kara supposes she sighs a little too loudly a little too many times, because Lucy closes her book rather abruptly, then turns to face her. “What?”

“What?” Kara says back.

Lucy rolls her eyes. “Stop sighing or tell me what’s going on.”

Kara bites her lip, tosses her phone towards the foot of her bed, and lies back into her pillows, groaning. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful.”

“You won’t,” Lucy says a little too sternly for Kara to feel comfortable.

Still, she takes a deep breath. “I just feel so... stagnant. My playing is stagnant. Losing is stagnant. Winning is stagnant. The sport is stagnant. Even being here, at a national team camp, my ultimate dream, it just feels…”

“Stagnant?” Lucy asks.

Kara shrugs, then nods. “You ever feel like that?” 

“Sure,” Lucy says. She turns onto her side to face Kara, and her expression is just a little too amused for the crisis Kara thinks she’s in. “Took me a few months, but I fixed it.”

“How?” Kara says, desperately feigning nonchalance.

“I went to France,” Lucy says. “I got a six month contract with Lyon, and I played there for a while.”

“Well,” Kara says, already shaking her head, “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Lucy asks. 

_Uh, I don’t know_ , doesn’t seem like a great answer, so she dwells on it.

Kara tries to imagine all the teams she’d want to play with on the bus ride to training, and, for once, she’s happy she doesn’t have a bus buddy. She pictures learning an entirely new style of play while she follows everyone through warm-ups. As her teammates call out to each other during scrimmaging, she wonders what it’s like to play on a team where those words are French.

Her entire day is consumed by the idea of going to play in Europe, which she eventually unloads in one long rant over the phone.

“You’re going to move it... France?” Alex sounds utterly confused, and Kara tries not to let that discourage her.

“I mean, not forever,” Kara says. She shrugs, waving her hands helplessly. “Just a short contract with a team over there. It doesn’t even have to be France. I just need a change of scenery.”

“What about Lena?” Alex asks. “You guys are literally engaged. It’s about time you actually got married, no?”

“Lena can... wait,” Kara says slowly.

“You’re an asshole.” 

“I didn’t mean it like _that_ ,” Kara huffs. “I just meant that we’ll be fine.”

“Right,” Alex says, “which is why you’re talking to me about this, and not her?”

Kara considers this. Then, “Shut up.” She puts Alex on speaker, settles back for a long phone call, and starts scrolling through Instagram again, when she sees the post. 

It’s a picture of Lena, looking as radiant and quiet and innocent and determined as she always does, and there’s a light in her eyes that Kara has only ever seen a couple times before. The caption reads:

**luthorphotos:** Thank you all for joining me on this wonderful journey. My life has been flipped upside down more times than I can count, and I’ll always wonder what could have been, but the path I’m on now is crazy and fun and beyond my wildest dreams. Photography has become such an important part of my life, and I fall in love every day with how an image can evoke emotions, a story, a message, or simply capture a memory.  
Because of that, I’m so pleased to announce I’m joining the team of @humansofny, and I’ll be traveling around the world with the one and only @bstanton1432. His message of spreading kindness, recognizing that every single person has a story, and trying to be a little more understanding, one picture at a time, is everything that I stand for and believe in.  
This job is a career, but it’s also a dream come true, and it’s all thanks to you, your support, and your help in getting my account out there. Sharing lives is something I think we all need to do a little bit more, and this next leg of my journey is going to do just that.  
Love always,  
Lena  
P.S. Keep up with the behind the lens journey on my personal account, @LenaLuthor!

“Um,” is all Kara can say. “Have you seen Lena’s most recent Instagram post?”

“On her personal account?” Alex asks. 

Kara shakes her head. “Photography.”

Silence. Breathing. Then, “Wow. Good for her.”

“I mean, yeah,” Kara says, shifting uncomfortably, “but it would be better if she’d told me about it.”

“She didn’t?” Alex asks. “Kara, call her.”

“Right, yeah,” Kara mutters. “That’s a good idea.”

“You better,” Alex says. “I’m hanging up. Call her. Bye!”

The line disconnects, and Kara stares at the post for a minimum of six straight minutes before finally snapping out of her thoughts and starting a call to Lena. 

The line rings once, twice, three times, and on the fourth, Lena picks up. “Hey!”

“Hey,” Kara says. She pauses, and tries to keep her breaths even as she fiddles with a loose string on her shorts. “I saw your Instagram post. Congratulations.”

“Oh,” Lena says breathlessly, continuing like she’s scared she’s going to run out of time, “thanks, I was going to call you tonight, I just didn’t want to interrupt your training today, and the offer came so quickly, so I just took it without thinking, and I’m really happy about it, and I really _was_ going to tell you, but then Sam said I should post —”

“Wait,” Kara says. “You told Sam about this?”

"Yes, of course,” Lena says. “Like I said, I didn’t want to disturb —”

“Sure, don’t call me in the middle of a scrimmage, but a text?” Kara says, standing up. “ A little heads up saying you have news? I’d have appreciated that.”

“Okay,” Lena says slowly. “I’m sorry. She’s my best friend.”

“I understand that, Lena,” Kara says, “but we have a life together. We’re engaged. These are things we share with each other.”

“Why are you so mad?” Lena asks softly.

Kara takes a deep breath. Her strides across the hotel room and back are heavy, and they do little to calm her down. She wishes she could fling open the hotel room and launch herself into the sky.  Then she sighs, as if exhaling defeat. “I’m mad at _myself_. I’m mad that you didn’t tell me first, and I’m mad that I didn’t either. I’m mad that when I was struggling with a major life decision, my first instinct was to call Alex, and not you. And I’m mad that when you did the same thing, I got mad about _that_.”

It’s all too confusing, but she hears Lena’s breath catch on at least one of the sentences. “What decision?” Lena asks. 

Her breaths inhale sharply as she comes to a stop, standing in front of the mirror. “I want to go to France. To play soccer for a season or two.”

“What?” Lena says. “France?”

“Yeah.” Kara lets a deep breath out, and the moment she says it, she knows she has to do it. She knows it’s exactly what she needs. “Lucy told me about how she went to play for Lyon a while back, and how it really helped her. I’ve been looking for that. I want that.”

“And why didn’t you want to tell me about it?” Lena asks.

Kara shrugs, but she knows why. “I guess I was just scared. Scared you’d ask me to stay, scared I would.”

“I would never ask that of you,” Lena says. Her breaths are tight, like they get when she’s frustrated. 

“I know,” Kara says.

“You don’t, obviously,” Lena retorts. “I would never ask you to sacrifice a career move for me.”

“Not with words,” Kara says gently. “I just... I don’t know that we can survive a distance like that.”

“Are you serious?” Lena demands. “We do distance literally every single month because you go off to some random state or country to play soccer.”

“That’s always temporary!” Kara says. “I would be going to Europe. For _months_.”

Lena’s quiet, and Kara’s trying desperately to imagine what she’s thinking. When they talk on the phone, they usually read each other so well, it's as if they’re face to face. Kara can always picture Lena’s frown or worried crease of her eyebrows. She can always close her eyes and feel Lena’s breath when she hears the slight exhale laugh she does. But this time, she just doesn’t know.

“Kara, I love you.”

Kara releases a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. “I love you, too.” 

“Okay, then,” Lena says, and, all of a sudden, her face is clear as day in Kara’s mind again. That little twinkle in her eye, the little blush when she finally says the right thing. “Then let’s do this.”

“Do what?” Kara laughs. 

“I'll travel around with world with a completely strange man I have never met before, and you move to France, a country where you’ve never been and don’t speak the language,” Lena says. “We can _do_ this.”

“Have I told you I love you?” Kara asks. “Because I do. So much.”

She spends the rest of camp lighter on her feet than she knows she’s been in a long time. She slips on her home kit with the name Danvers and the number 12 on the back on game day, and when she scores in the 76th minute against the Netherlands, she presses a kiss to her fist and pumps it in the air towards the camera. She knows Lena will know it’s for her.

The lease on their apartment is up anyway, and Lena figures if Kara’s moving out, she might as well get a cheaper place. Apparently, it makes sense for that cheaper place to be in New York City. “Brandon lives there,” Lena had said. “It’ll be nice to be able to have a home base in the same city, you know? It’s called Humans of _New York_ after all, we just do some traveling as well.”

“Sounds good,” Kara had replied, kissing away the worry settling in Lena’s eyebrows. “We’ll be able to see Broadway shows and stuff when I visit you.”

“Mhm,” Lena said, “and I can show you all the non-touristy spots.”

“That’ll be a nice change,” Kara said, rolling her eyes. “When I’m with the national team, it’s cool seeing new places, but nothing screams ‘tourist’ like a giant bus filled with thirty people wearing the exact same outfit.”

“Like one of those families that goes to Disney, and everybody has a matching shirt,” Lena giggled.

“You take that back,” Kara said, feigning offense.

“Make me,” Lena murmured.

Then Kara had shut her up the way she does best, and they’d gotten Thai takeout from down the street, they went on a walk at two in the morning with no destination, and it was just so spontaneous and fun and full of who they used to be that Kara started to think they really might be able to handle such crazy distance. 

She knows her face is doing the dazed happiness thing whenever she thinks about Lena, because Lucy starts poking her face until Kara slaps her hand away. “Stop. I don’t have a bus buddy for a reason.”

“Yeah, because you need to keep up a lame appearance of being cool,” Lucy says, rolling her eyes. “Tobin’s out this camp, so I’m sitting next to you. It’s three weeks; you’ll live.”

“Fine,” Kara mumbles. She pulls out her headphones. “Welcome to my bus row.”

“Thinking about Lena?” Lucy asks. She wiggles her eyebrows, as if to say, _Remember that stupid face you had on your face less than a minute ago_.

Normally, Kara would give an eye roll and a conversation ending line, like “grow up” or “uh-huh,” but this time, she just nods, allowing herself another smile. “Yeah. We had a really good talk about France and everything.”

“Good,” Lucy says. “You guys really love each other; you’ll be fine.”

Two weeks after camp ends, Lena moves to New York City, and Kara moves to Paris. Once she’d told her manager what she’d wanted to do, and once she got permission from her domestic club, it had been surprisingly easy to find a French team that wanted her. After sorting through several offers of various salaries and time lengths, Kara had settled on a six month long contract with Paris Saint-Germain.

“So, here’s my room,” Lena says, flipping her phone camera. “I mean, it’s the _only_ room. But it is _also_ my room, so technically what I said before is still true.”

“Okay,” Kara laughs, peeking around at the decorations. “New pillow?”

“Mhm,” Lena says. She moves the camera closer, and Kara rolls her eyes.

“You’re kidding,” she says, looking around at her own bedroom, and seeing an identical pillow leaning against the headboard of her bed.

“You know I loved that pillow,” Lena defends. “I needed one of my own.” 

“It is a great one,” Kara agrees. “Show me your kitchen. I wanna see where I’m going to be cooking for you.”

“Fine, but no breakfast,” Lena says. “You know you’re only good at cooking dinner.”

“I’ll practice,” Kara declares. “By the time we move back in together, the French will have taught me everything I need to know about cooking breakfast.”

“I don’t think even _they_ could,” Lena says. She flips the camera back just in time for Kara to catch a glimpse of a slight cringe.

“I resent that,” Kara says. “Cute apartment, babe. I like it.”

“Oh, and it’s super convenient, too,” Lena gushes, just like Kara knew she would. “I’m so close to just about every subway line, which I have never actually used before, but I’m actually excited to. My mom would lose her mind if —“ A pause. “Doesn’t matter. There’s also three different grocery stores within walking distance, _and_ I’m basically right next door to a coffee shop.”

“Me, too,” Kara says. “If there’s one thing the French do well, it’s pastries. I’m gonna get fat.”

“I’ll love you anyway,” Lena says.

“My coach won’t,” Kara says. She flips her own camera and starts walking around. “I managed to get an extra room with some of my teammates. I’m hoping they try and teach me French, because so far, all I know how to say is ‘bonjour’ and ‘baguette.’”

“Your place is so… clean,” Lena says.

“Of course, that’s the first thing you notice,” Kara says. Then she agrees, “It _is_ clean, though. I’m going to have to step it up.”

“I’ll help you,” Lena decides. “I have a lot of organization techniques. When Sam and I were in school, she used to pay me to clean her room for her every week before inspection.”

“You had inspection?” Kara laughs, but Lena doesn’t look amused at all, and once again Kara is left wondering what on Earth boarding school she went to. “I mean, of course you did. Although, that does surprise me. Sam always seemed so... nerdy and studious and organized and…”

“Like me?” Lena says helpfully. Kara shrugs, as if to say, _I mean, I guess_. “She _was_ studious and nerdy, but not very organized. One of those kids that just always has to be learning and researching and stuff. Once, she tore out all the books on her shelf just to find the exact line from a specific novel, and then remembered she could have just Googled it.”

“Huh,” Kara says.

“She’s the kind of person who would do the homework _and_ the extra credit _and_ have it be done a week before the due date, but then get points taken off because she lost it or forgot to turn it in on the actual day,” Lena says. She rolls her eyes, but there’s a little smile on her lips.

“Kind of like me,” Kara muses. “Except I just wouldn’t ever do it in the first place.”

“How did you get into Stanford again?” Lena asks.

Kara gives her an indignant look. “Hey. I’m good at kicking things, and I’ll have you know that I got a 1520 on my SAT.”

“That’s hot,” Lena says.

“Keep it in your pants, Luthor,” Kara says with a grin. “My roommates will be here soon. They should have finished practice a few minutes ago.”

“Well, I’ll let you go, then,” Lena says, nodding her head towards something off camera. “I should finish unpacking these boxes, anyway. Text me?”

“Of course,” Kara says.

“Okay,” Lena says. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Kara says. 

And then the call ends, and any warmth that was slowly creeping into the lonely bedroom Kara now calls home is gone. She wishes Lena was there so much her heart hurts, and all she can think about is them moving into their first apartment together, but then she hears the sound of keys clicking and locks turning, and she knows her roommates are home.

She swallows the lump in her throat, pumps the ache out of her heart, and walks back into the living room from her bedroom to greet them. They’re all sweaty and laughing and they seem so happy with each other, but they pause politely when they see her.

“Hi,” Kara says. She half sticks out a hand to shake theirs, then wonders if that’s something they do in France, and eventually settles for an awkward wave at waist level. “I’m Kara Danvers. I’m your new roommate. And teammate, I guess.”

“Hello,” one of them says. Her accent is thick, but her smile is friendly, and her eyes are warm enough to fill some of the gap Lena has left behind. “Christiane. I’m the goalkeeper.”

The other two introduce themselves as Nadia, a native Danish player that Kara has actually met before when she used to play in the States in Portland, and a little Canadian named Jordan, who Kara has also played against before.

“You’re, like, really young,” Kara says lamely. “Younger than _I_ was when I started with the national teams.”

“Jealous?” Jordan asks.

Kara shakes her head. “Impressed.”

Jordan smiles. “You’re going to fit right in.”

She comes to realize that that’s only half true. 

Her first practice with the team has her forced to stand up in front of everybody to introduce herself with some terrible French she learned from Google Translate. One of the senior members of the team smiles, and, with a pat on the back, says “Stick to English for now” in a thick accent.

She starts lacing up her boots gifted from Lena for warm-up drills, and runs a finger over the inscription stitched into the inside of the sole. _I love you_. On the other cleat, it reads, _Forget me not_. She cracks a smile as she loosened the laces to slip them on.

It was a joke, a nod to the time Lena had told her that, after pining over some rebel girl in high school for for years, she refused to be that kind of person anymore. She refused to be the kind of girl that would sit in a meadow and pick petals off of flowers, wondering if her crush liked her back. She refused to be the kind of girl that worried every time she and her significant other did anything apart from each other, whether they’d reunite less in love as before.

To that, Kara had, of course, kissed her gently and promised that if anyone was going to be doing the forgetting, it was Lena. “I couldn’t forget you if I tried. You're too special.” She’d paused, knowing it was likely the cheesiest thing she’d ever said in her whole life. So, of course, she decided to make it worse. “Special like a four leaf clover.” 

“Four leaf clovers are actually —“

“Okay, nerd,” Kara had laughed, shutting her up with another kiss.

Lena had gotten her the new pair of cleats for her big move, and Kara had spent the last week doing obnoxious exercises and wearing them 24/7 to get  them broken in in time for her first practice.

Really, the first practice is always the most nerve-wracking. Everyone wants to see what the newbie has to offer, whether she’ll mess up so horribly the coach wonders why they even wanted her, or whether she’s going to work some miracles. Kara knows the reality is probably neither of those things; she’s seen her share of rookies come and go enough times to know the first practice usually ends up being predictable and uninspiring. Of course, there will be nerves, but muscle memory and talent always pulls them through. 

Kara gets in line behind everybody as they begin a warm-up mile run. She closes her eyes briefly, and starts pulling long, full breaths through her lungs. Her legs start to pump in the way they do best, and as her muscles dutifully carry her towards the front of the pack, she finally starts to feel the way Lucy told her she would.

By her second lap, she’s pulled ahead of everybody else, yet she knows she’s not even close to her full speed. Her legs move more effortlessly than they have in months, and for once, all she can think about is the excitement of the practice ahead, not the dread of the drills they’re going to have to do, or a pit in her stomach when she thinks about yet another game.

The entire two hours of training goes about as perfectly as Kara could have ever wished for. Her touches are perfect, her finishing is the way she always sees it happening in her mind, even if it doesn’t end up following through that way, and her body just feels good. She feels strong. She feels like herself again.

The coach pulls her aside at the end of practice, and Kara feels a sigh of relief leave her when she notices Jordan is waiting for her to carpool back to the apartment. She turns back to focus on Cat Grant, who’s holding out a hand. “Hey, Kara.”

“Hi,” Kara says breathlessly. She shakes her hand firmly and says, “It’s an honor to finally meet you in person.”

“Great practice today,” she says. “I knew I was right taking you on mid-season.”

“Thank you,” Kara says, wishing she didn’t look so sweaty and gross.

“I used to coach the U.S. Women’s National Team,” Cat says. 

“I know,” Kara says, then blushes.

Cat just smiles. “I wish you’d been there for me. You would have won us the 2011 World Cup.”

“I don’t know about that,” Kara says with a little laugh.

“I do,” Cat says, her face looking oddly serious, but her eyes warm and playful. “I’ve developed a good eye for young players over the years. You’re one of the most naturally talented center-mids I’ve seen in a very long time.”

“Thank you,” is all Kara can say, again, even though she feels like an absolute idiot. 

Cat pats her on the back. “See you tomorrow.”

Jordan giggles as Kara walks up to her. “I see you, Teacher’s Pet.”

Kara rolls her eyes and scoffs. “Definitely not.”

/

**To: Lenaaa <3333**

**[7:42 PM]** really awesome practice  
today. thanks for the boots. 

**[7:43 PM]** I knew it! You’re amazing.  
 **[7:43 PM]** I love you.

/

Kara knows the team is impressed by her performance in the first week. Hell, _Kara_ is impressed; she has no idea how she managed to pull that out of her, but, with an almost optimistic smile, she starts to wonder if it’s the magic of France making it her new normal.

Still, her dream of meeting a bunch of cool new people and being some star soccer player by day, French club regular by night, starts to fall flat.

Practices are absolutely grueling. Whether it’s the European training style or the fact that Kara actually feels motivated to give one-hundred and ten percent during every session, she’s not sure, but she’s asleep on her feet at the end of each one. Then she has to go home, shower, eat, and by then, all she wants to do is crawl into bed.

It gets to the point where if she’s not figuring out meals, napping, at practice, or getting ready for something, she’s either talking to Lena or in for the night.

When Jordan asks if she wants to join her and another teammate for drinks on the night before their day off, Kara says no, knowing she promised Lena a FaceTime date. When they go out for breakfast, Kara stays behind to sleep in because she’d been on the phone until two in the morning. She turns down invitation after invitation because Lena might call or she has a phone date planned or they had talked about video chatting.

Eventually, she starts to notice that the invites trickle slower and slower until they stop altogether. It’s about a week after they stop asking her to come out with them for good that she catches Jordan before practice.

“You’re up early,” Kara yawns, plodding into the kitchen.

Jordan looks alert and peppy. “I like to wake up early,” she says, shrugging. She’s got a bowl of oatmeal in front of her. “Gives me time to digest my breakfast.”

“Do you guys have any plans tonight?” Kara asks as casually as she can.

Jordan looks up from her phone, and her spoon stills halfway through scooping up a bite. “Like what?”

Kara shrugs. “Anything.”

“You actually gonna come?” Jordan says.

“Yes,” Kara says. She turns, pouring a little bit of milk into the blender. Jordan looks at her distrustfully as she begins peeling and breaking a banana. “I’m serious. I just... I’m having a hard time balancing everything.”

“What do you mean?” Jordan asks curiously. “This isn’t your first pro team.”

“No,” Kara agrees, “but it’s my first internationally. I’m also more motivated and excited for soccer than I’ve been in a long time. I’m trying harder and playing more intensely, time zones are weird with all my friends back home, I’m just so tired, and when I do have free time, I wanna talk to my girlfriend, you know?”

“Well, we’re going to get dinner tonight,” Jordan says. “I’m leaving at around six if you want to come.”

“I do,” Kara says.

Jordan smiles. “Good. The rest of the team is wondering about the weird American who makes everyone else look bad at practice, and then hides in her room.”

“I don’t _hide_ ,” Kara mumbles.

She comes to accept that she _does_ hide, which is why she discovers that half the team doesn’t know anything about her other than her last name is “Danvers” and she wears the number twelve on her kit. This changes over dinner, and Kara suddenly feels incredibly guilty for making such a fuss about going to France, and then isolating herself from all her teammates.  


Once she starts actually talking to people, her French improves faster than she thought was even possible, and all of a sudden she can’t get enough of the city. She finishes a two-a-day and wants Jordan to come with her to dinner, or she wakes up at six in the morning just to bug Nadia into going to watch the sunset and eat pastries before practice. She soaks up the language like it’s her own and goes to sit in the sun just because it’s French sun, and that somehow seems to just make it better.

Her heart practically melts when teammates start to greet her by her name at practice, instead of calling her “twelve” or “the American” or just “Danvers,” and she finds just as much reward in greeting them back.

Practices become the best she’s had in her entire life. There’s teams with amazing people on it, but they don’t click. There’s teams that click, but the players aren’t on the same fitness level. There’s times when she’s been the most motivated and ready to go, but her team just doesn't share the feeling.

Now, s he finally understands what it’s like when all the pieces of play come together.

After they beat Lyon 4-1 (Lucy would be lying if she said she wasn’t salty), Kara realizes that this is the first time where she’s at her best, the other players are at their best, and the whole team actually works together like they’re supposed to. No forward takes a risky shot when they could have passed it for a guaranteed goal, no midfielder tries an impossible touch so they get the assist instead of someone else, and everybody is so focused on the team performance that they shine individually anyway.

She and Lena start scheduling their calls, and also start texting more to make up for the fact that Kara admitted that she didn’t think she’d be able to handle more than one call a week, given time zones and everything. In the end, they decide on Friday nights.

“Happy Friday,” Kara says, leaning back into the plush gray pillow on her bed.

“Hey,” Lena says. “How was your day?”

“Pretty good.” Kara tries to imagine Lena lying on her own matching pillow. Would she be flat on her back? Curled on her side? Lena likes to talk on speakerphone, but where is her phone placed? “I had a really great practice today, actually, and I’m thinking of renewing my contract.”

“Oh.” Lena pauses. Kara squeezes her eyes shut. “Okay. How much longer?”

“Another six months,” Kara says.

“I’m glad you’re liking it there,” Lena says gently. “You know I’ll support whatever you choose.”

“I know,” Kara says, but she almost wonders if that’s worse.

The next time they call, Kara just can’t bring herself to be as into it as she used to be. The energy isn’t the same, and hearing Lena’s voice on a crackly international connection while closing her eyes and trying to imagine her isn’t the same.

“Are you okay?” Lena asks.

Kara silently curses herself for being so obvious, but she just sighs and says, “Yeah. I’m fine, really. I just miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” Lena says.

“Oh, shoot, I have to go,” Kara lies. She feels tears start pricking at the back of her eyes, so she just swallows roughly. “I love you.” 

Then she hangs up, lies on her bed holding back tears for half an hour, and tries to make sense of why on Earth she’d lie to Lena, why she’d even feel the need to, and why she can’t bring herself to call Lena back and figure it out.

The next week’s call is about as stagnant and painfully slow as the previous, and Kara decides that she needs to fix whatever’s going on. She wants it to be a surprise, so she figures out when her next three days off in a row are, books two plane tickets, and packs a bag.

She lands in New York City before the week is over, and calls an Uber to Lena’s new apartment. She’s made it all the way to the front door just in time to realize that she doesn’t have a key, and is about to figure out whether she should wait for Lena or just text her, and admit she’s there, when the decision is made for her.

“Kara?”

She turns. Lena’s standing in the hallway, and manages to step out of the elevator right as the doors begin to close. “Hey, Lena. Long time no see.”

And then she’s flat against the wall as Lena tackles her with a hug, and she’s breathing in Lena’s scent and holding her tighter than she ever has before, and her heart is so happy it could burst, but it skips a beat as she entertains the fact that she’s _relieved_ she still feels this way.

“I’m only here for today and tomorrow,” Kara mumbles into her shoulder.

“Shh,” Lena breathes, kissing away her words. 

Kara starts to think that this is all they needed; just two days together, in person — no work, no distance, no time zones. She starts to think they’re going to be fine again, just like they were when Kara first moved. She starts to think that she’s magically going to figure out the balance between her job, her teammates, and her fiancee.

It’s only when Kara realizes how much she loves Lena that she knows it’s over.

The sun is shining, which Lena had said was a miracle for New York at this time of year, but it’s strong and tall when finally get out of bed for breakfast, when they take the Subway a few blocks away, and still when they start walking through Central Park.

Kara says something stupid, she can’t even recall what, and Lena does that little chuckle where she looks down, but then up, and it’s quiet, but shakes her whole body. Kara had imagined her doing it at least once every time they spoke on the phone. Now, though, stepping out of the shadow of a tree, seeing Lena’s face breathing in her future with such eagerness, her heart starts to hurt.

She loves Lena. She loves her more than anything. Kara is unadulteratedly, irrevocably in love with her. The day before she was relieved to feel that, but today she’s afraid.

Her palms start to sweat, as she realizes what she has to do, and though she hates herself so much for ruining the perfect moment in a perfect day with the most perfect girl, she knows she’ll hate herself even more if she lets herself get back on the plane to France.

“Lena,” Kara says quietly, hoping her voice isn’t actually shaking as much as it feels.

“Are you okay?” Lena asks, with the earnest concern she does so well.

“Yeah,” Kara says. “I mean, no. Kind of. Look, I love you. I really love you, and I don’t want anything I say next to make you think I feel anything but that for you.”

“Okay...” Lena says, eyebrows worried, but mouth smiling in an optimistic force of habit.

“We need to... take a break,” Kara says, exhaling. Lena’s expression doesn’t change, and she doesn’t say anything, so Kara keeps talking. “I’m staying for another six months. Maybe more. We’ll see. And I know you’ll support me, and I support you in everything, but it was so painful just from New York City to France. How is it going to be when you’re in all these other random countries, sometimes with no cell service?”

“A break?” is all Lena says.

“How can I allow myself to let this go on, knowing how much it hurts me? How much it hurts _you_?” Kara says. “It’s neither of our faults, which is, God, such a stupid line, but it’s true. If I moved to New York City today, and you quit your job traveling, we could make it work. But I’m not going to do that, and I would hate myself if you did.”

Lena’s face is impassive. Her eyes are glazed over, and they hover over Kara’s in an unfocused, hazy stare. The only crack in her facade is a slight quiver in her lower lip.

“I need to focus on France and my team and my career and my new friends,” Kara continues, filling the silence with what she can only hope is soothing word vomit. “The distance, the time-zones. I would always neglect either you or my job. I can’t do both. I thought I could. I wish I could. I — I can’t.”

“But you love me?” Lena says, like it’s an incredulous question, a desperate plea, and an unamused statement all at once.

Kara steps forward and her hand can’t help but find its way to Lena’s face, where she brushes her thumb along her cheekbone like she’s done so many times before. When she spots the tears welling up in Lena’s eyes, those eyes that couldn’t hide her emotions from Kara even if she tried, she can’t stop her own from falling. She looks away. “God. I told myself I wasn’t going to cry.”

Lena’s eyes start to harden, like they do when she’s shutting down to protect herself, but with one more swipe of her thumb across Lena’s cheek, the bite and anger fades into fear. “You’re sure?” she says, quietly.

Kara looks back at her, and squeezes her eyes shut, because Lena’s face is an open book, and all she reads is heartbroken. “I love you, Lena Luthor. Do not forget that. I love you. But I’m sure.”

“It was a good last day,” Lena says, shrugging gently.

Kara almost wants Lena to yell at her. She wants her to fight her, to scream at her, to give her a reason to jump up and convince herself why this is a good idea when it just makes her feel like shit. She says, as a desperate attempt at a an argument, “It just shouldn’t be this hard.”

And all Lena says is, “I know.”

/

Kara stumbles through the Uber ride back to Lena’s apartment, where she’d packed her stuff up that morning so she could hurry to the airport. She’s so lost in her thoughts that she runs into about five different people just getting from the parking lot to the airport terminal, and she numbly says “Good morning,” despite it being six in the evening, when the flight attendant asks her if she needs help finding her seat.

She plugs in her headphones when she settles into her row, but forgets to press play on any music. All she can think about is Lena; all she can _see_ is Lena.

Lena would tell her to wipe down the tray table because it’s probably covered in germs. Lena would have reminded her to bring a jacket. Lena would have made them a playlist to listen to together the whole flight, somehow filled with every single song she’s been wanting to listen to.

Lena is in the coffee she gets at the airport before ordering an Uber back to her apartment. She stumbles over the words “whole milk” knowing how Lena always wanted to convince her to switch to breve lattes, but she never could stomach the taste. Lena is in the driver she has, who pulls up in a Tesla and has dark red lipstick when she delivers a cool greeting.

Lena is in the walk to the apartment, as Kara sees all the shops she’d mentally made a list of so she’d know where to take Lena when she came to visit. Lena is in the pillow on her bed in her apartment. She’s in the brand of shampoo that Kara bought just because it smells like her. She’s in all the clothes that inspire memories to surface, even though she tries her best to distract herself.

The Stanford t-shirt she wore the day they met at that soccer game. The jeans she tried to wear every time she knew she was going to see Lena just because they made her butt look good. The sweater Lena stole a month into their relationship, and then Kara stole back when she moved so she’d have something to cuddle up to at night.

Lena is in the lock screen on her phone. The plant on her windowsill. The candle on her nightstand. And her head.

Kara can’t get Lena out of her fucking head. She misses her so much it hurts, but, at the same time, she knows that she made the right decision; that’s what makes it worse. She can’t start planning a grand romantic gesture to ask for Lena’s forgiveness. She can’t text a long apology message. She can’t call Alex and figure out how she’s going to get her girl back. She can’t do anything to try and fix what she did, because, she knows, deep down, it wasn’t a mistake.

Kara packs her training bag for the next day, wondering how on Earth she’s going to make it through practice without bursting into tears or yelling at somebody. She sets her clothing out for the day: shorts, socks, jersey, sports bra, heart rate monitor she’s supposed to wear every week before a big game. 

Then her training bag: sunscreen, headphones, Gatorade, extra socks, shin guards, pre-wrap, phone charger with charging block, and... cleats.

Like any self respecting professional footballer, she has way too many sets of boots. She’s got her lucky pair that might fall apart the next time she kicks a ball, so she only wears them on really important days. Then there’s the pairs she has from sponsors, which are good boots, but not really her favorite.

And then there’s her Lena cleats. The ones she’d gotten not even two months prior. The ones that, on the inside, read _I love you_ , and, on the other, _Forget me not_. It’s a joke, she knows that, but she can’t help but let out a little chuckle filled with too much sadness to be amused.

Forget her?

Forget the girl who had her career ruined and single handedly found a new dream? Forget the girl that taught her how to love with no inhibitions? Forget the girl with the devilish smile, who makes bad jokes that don’t match her vibe at all, but somehow seems to always tell them in a way that’s funny anyway? Forget the girl who Kara thought she was going to wake up next to for the rest of her life? Forget the girl who she loves so much it makes her chest heart and her heart beat fast enough for two? Forget her ‘maybe someday’?

Impossible. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk to me. erikahenningsn on tumblr!

**Author's Note:**

> buckle up
> 
> quinnfebrey on tumblr. come chat!


End file.
